Why the Scarab

Jung saw a patient regularly. He believed she was in need of an unexpected life experience to shake her up, providing a “spiritual shock intervention”. 

One day the patient was in for her session, reflecting on a dream from the previous night in which she was handed a “golden [colored} scarab”. As Jung listened to the dream he heared a light tapping on the window, he went over to the window and found a beetle of the “scarab” variety. 

Stunned, he captured the scarab, walked over to his patient and says “here is your scarab”. This incident helped the patient heal, and solidified Jung’s fascination with the subconscious and synchronicity. 

I remember hearing that scarab story years ago. I love that we can use synchronicity as a guide. Right now I’m interested in creating my own destiny; I call upon the scarab to guide me. 

The scarab beetle is a guide from the cosmic universe, letting you know that fate and destiny are always at work. We might be at a crossroad, and it offers a whole new way of being. 

How to be like a Hare, Part 3

We all fear something. 

A little voice inside whispering, “no no no”. Our hearts stop, frozen. 

Fear can keep us from things. Or in things. 

Last week I slowed down and got real with myself. I quieted. I felt. And I let friends reflect back what they heard. 

For a couple days fear and authenticity hung in the air. 

The path forward is going to require me to trust and getting out of my comfort zone. 

Today I practiced: I got up early (on a Sunday!) and went to a 3-hour yoga and dance class. 

It felt good to be in my body. I worked through the discomfort by trusting the process and letting go. 

I pumped blood through my heart. The little voice inside is now whispering, “I can do this”. 

Trust the rabbit, it will help you face your fears. 

"Once you are real, you can’t unreal again. It lasts forever.” - Margery Williams, author of The Velveteen Rabbit

How to be like a Hare, Part 2 (horns not included)

They say the jackalope was born in the hills of Wyoming in the 1800s. 

But this mystical creature goes back in time. A horned hare appears in an early-17th century work of natural history. There are real hares with nubs and growths on there forehead. 

Turns out, they aren't horns, they are tumors. A rabbit version of the HPV virus. 

Despite the oddity, the jackalope has been absorbed into culture, showing up in museum curiosities, folklore, America’s Funniest People, and hipster art. 

No longer deformed, this creature is embraced. Like it's furry brethren the hare, it's transformed into the trickster. 

Trickster is an archetype creating realities in the duality of time and illusion. In mythology it can be a god, goddess, spirit, human or anthrophmorphic animal who plays tricks disobeying normal rules and conventional behavior. 

I was re-listening to a brilliant podcast conversation between Brene Brown and Elizabeth Gilbert (two of my favorite heroines). 

Brene recounted her process with writing. It’s hard. Painful. Martyr making. 

For her latest book she invited trickster energy and turned the whole process upside down. 

She invited some of closest confidants to a long weekend away; she’d sit in front of her team talking and working through the words, laughing her way to a finished book.
So brilliant. 

Listen to the podcast; it’s worth it to Brene tell the story. 
https://soundcloud.com/riverheadbooks/ep-12-big-strong-magic

So while the jackalope may not be an “real” animal, the energy is very real. 

Be like the jackalope: play with realities and transform your experience.

The rare and wonderful Lepus antilocapra.

How to be like a Hare, Part 1

Did you see the moon rabbit last night?

In various cultures, primarily Asian and Aztec, there isn't a man on the moon; they see a rabbit with a mortar and pestle. The only thing that changes is the contents of the mortar - for some it’s the elixir of life, for others, rice cakes.  

Mythology confirms the ancient connection between the hare and the moon. 

I think about the hare’s connection to a giant celestial body. I picture a fluffy bunny floating in outer space.

Feels much  s l o w e r. 

And yet they are so quick, topping at 45/mph. Are they somehow motivated by their connection to the moon?

Perhaps their speed takes no effort. Perhaps intent and focus naturally propels us forward. 

The hare tells us: connect first, speed later. 

Why the hare?

I have a thing about speed. 

When I used to work as an Executive Assistant at a global consulting firm. I’d sit in front of the computer chugging red bulls or yerba mate, hoping the caffeine would quicken my pace and get me though the day. 

In a yearly review, my boss compared me to a Lamborghini. Fast and effective was valued (I still take that as a compliment). 

That type of speed is a funny thing. It feels fast and bright, but also constricting. There’s a tightness and pressure that can exhaust me. 

Have you ever experienced flow? Oh so good. 

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi the original researcher of this state. Flow "is the mental state of operation in which a person performing an activity is fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process of the activity”. 

It’s often referred to as "being in the zone". Things feel effortless, hours zoom by in an instant. Some of the world’s best work comes from people being in flow state. 

It’s a like a time dream for me.

This month I signed up for an online course that teaches flow states. Nothing exciting to report yet - it’s the first week, I’m still learning. 

The hare, specifically the brown hare, is the seventh fastest animal; it's right behind the cheetah, the American longhorn, and a few types of gazelles. A brown hare can out run a greyhound, maxing out at an impressive 45 mph. 

Hares are fast. 

So I picked the hare this month to guide my inquiry into speed. 

Is fast always good? When is slow more effective? How might I find flow? 

How to be like a Rhino, Part 3

I was on the phone with my friend the other day:“How are you handling the move? You’re such a social creature.”

Really well, actually. 

I can count on one hand how many people I know in Reno. That includes my parents. 

After living with 20 people, I’m enjoying the space and predictable quiet. It’s both a nest and has new places to explore. Plus, I got a cat. 

If you look up rhinos on the interwebs, you’ll see some facts that they are solitary creatures. Drifters, munching on greenery and enjoying their own company. Kinda like me right now: wandering around new areas, eating local food, and hanging out with myself. 

Recent footage shows that the rhino is actually quite social. Especially the white rhino, who lives in small herds, primarily with females. Which is also kinda like me. 

Despite all this me-time, I’m actually quite connected. I talk and text with with my friends daily. The natives are friendly. And I’ve gone to yoga, acupuncture, and attended a meet-up and met some amazing women. I’m with my herd. 

As my friend suggested, I am pretty social. For now I've found a balance of quiet and social time. 

Rhinos keep another, more unusual, type of company. It’s a smaller bird called the oxpecker. You’ve probably seen images on Discovery or in National Geographic. The birds perch on it’s thick skin, eating insects that would otherwise irritate the rhino. 

What’s cool about this arrangement is that its symbiotic.The oxpecker gets a good meal. And in return, the bird alerts the rhino if there is danger (rhinos don’t have great eyesight). 

Most mornings I walk a local coffee shop. When I enter, greetings are exchanged, and they give me something tasty. In return I give them a little cash. It’s perfectly symbiotic. 

Whether it’s friends, or strangers in the coffee shop, the rhino reminds us to enjoy our herd. 

How to be like a Rhino, Part 2

Wow. Last week was kind of a doozy. 

A lot of things happening lately. The move. Learning a new way to work. Travel. Sickness. Travel again. Adventures. 

It’s a lot to get used to, but I’m resilient. I got this. Thick skinned as they say. 

But this week I felt like I broke. I reached a point where I could no longer contain it all. 

A rhino’s skin is about 1.5-5 centimeters thick (that’s about .5-2 inches for us Americans). It helps to protect them from thorns and sharp grasses. 

Despite having the thick skin, rhinos are sensitive to insect bites and sunburns. They wallow in mud to protect themselves from the harsh rays of the sun, and have a symbiotic relationship with the Oxpecker bird to help with insects (more on that in next email).

That's a beautiful dichotomy between soft and protected. 

Like us humans. 

This week I felt my softer side. Yes, I am resilient, yes I’ve got this. But wow, that softness is so lovely.

It felt like an opening for more empathy and more self-love. 

Permission to be human. . 

The rhino reminds us: be thick skinned with an open heart. 

How to be like a Rhino, Part 1

I met someone this weekend who banned the word “huge" from his vocabulary; I don’t want to say the word, but rhinos really are that big. 

The white rhino (one of five species) is a the second largest land mammal, maxing out at 7700 lb. 

That’s enormous. 

What I like about the rhino is how it owns it’s space. There is no apology. Just embodiment. 

That’s an incredible message, that we can be show up and be ourselves. There is nothing to prove. Just be you, all of you. 

Too often we shrink, make ourselves smaller. 

You are too wonderful to not be seen. 

The rhino reminds us: be larger than life. 

Why the rhino?

It started with a colleague’s enthusiasm and a plane ride. 

My infectious colleague shared a clip of Sir David Attenborough on BBC Nature. He recorded the intimate night-time behavior of the African rhino. 

They’re flirtatious. 
They’re opinionated. 
They’re prehistoric. 

I was charmed. 

On a recent flight I watched a short film sponsored by GoPro, "The Last of the Rhinos”. The movie chronicles Rhinos Without Borders' heroic efforts to save the rhinos from poachers in South Africa. 

I was moved by the movie. Every 8 hours a rhino dies due to horn poaching. 

It’s tragic. It makes my heart sad. 

It also makes me feel overwhelmed, not sure how to help. 

Part of the reason I chose the rhinoceros is so I can bring awareness to it’s plight in some small way. 

Rhino symbolism is a bit complicated. The guiding principle for depicting it’s meaning is “thins are not actually what they seem.” I do like the trickster energy. 

In addition, the rhino can bring you adaptability, confidence and strength. 

Fair to say, I also chose the rhinoceros to remind me to go forth, be bold, and look at things a little differently. 

I moved

I moved last weekend. 

All my things. To another state. 

I’m in Reno, Nevada now. 

Its funny how moving represents a fresh start. 

It’s a exciting. A chance for new habits, rituals, beliefs. 

Literally a new state of being.

But really, you move all of you. Not just the mattress, kitchen utensils and coat closet. Or all your art. 

You move your state of mind. 

I’ve been checking in with myself this week. 

Which part of me is running the show? The person from a month ago, or the person who’s excited for a new way of being?

I’m catching myself falling into habits that my new self isn’t excited about - no art practice. Choosing tv instead. 

No matter where I’m living, it’s best if I choose daily my state of mind. 

It’s a blank canvas waiting for color. 

Not knowing vs. The creative spark

Recently I’ve had a lot of "I don’t knows" in my everyday day world. 

I don't know how this is going to work out. 
I don't know the next best move. 
I don't know what to do. 

When "I don't know", the ego kicks in and tell me I'm a fraud. 

It's human nature. 

But in my art world, it's different. 

When I bought these old book covers I wondered what to do with them.  

I didn't know. Bought them anyway. 

When I brought them home, I thought, 
what will happen if I paint them with wax? 

I didn’t know. Did it anyway. 

Months later I found them again. Could I paint a raven on the book cover? 

I didn't know. Painted anyway. 

Art lets me not know. The only thing I have to do is follow the spark of curiosity. 

If I try to "know it" too soon I miss out on creativity and happy mistakes. 

Art should inform life; not the other way around. 

Our stories are magic

The raven is a deep black.  Often associated with evil or death. 

It’s also an iridescent, shimmering blue. The raven may be the color of night, but it glistens with magic.

it’s through this magic that they are associated with the other side, bringing messages from beyond. 

The raven is a connection to our ancestors. Some say spirits communicate through this feathered creature. .

This weekend I found these old photos at an antique shop. I look at these women and I see stories. 

I see lived wisdom.

And it got me thinking about the state of the world and our humanity. The importance of equal rights and listening to each other. 

If the raven brings us messages from our ancestors, what tales would the raven tell for these women? 

What would they fear? Would they be proud?

We’ve been here before in history. With a little bit of magic, we can do this again. 

Bird Origin Story

It was an average weekend day, walking the streets of San Francisco with my mom. We were in search of garage sale treasures. I was seven. 

In the Castro, just a few blocks away from home, we spotted a good sale. Eclectic colorful items, people sorting through things. When we approached we saw a cage with a sweet cockatiel. My mother immediately scooped up the feathered creature; her name was Fortuna. 

Not one for being conventional, my mom let Fortuna fly around the house. She wasn't a loud bird, more of an introvert. She would let out a cute chirp while hiding behind framed photographs. 

It was a sunny Valentine's Day. A day filled with expectations and weight. At my mother's request we grabbed the cage and went to the backyard. After we sat down, my mom opened the tiny barred door and Fortuna climbed out. She looked around and then flew up, swoshed by a tall tree, and took off for freedom. 

To a seven year old, purposely letting your pet run away is baffling. She'd blamed her "romanticism", but I think my mom related to Fortuna: domesticated and stuck in a cage. My mom ached to fly but didn't know how to set herself free.

Unknowingly this affected me greatly. Fortuna, and birds in general, became synonymous with freedom. And freedom was something we should obtain. It also solidified animal symbolism as a path to healing.

When I was 20 I purchased a baby African Grey parrot. I remember being so scared to open the cardboard bird cage, fearful he'd come out with a vengeance. When I gained the courage, he popped up and I was able to give him a kiss on the beak.

We named him Mendo and he ended up being a gregarious, sweet and funny parrot. Reflecting back, maybe I wanted to domesticate my freedom. After all I was living with my high school sweetheart (by the way, he still has and loves Mendo). Or maybe I wanted to understand the nature of flight and wings. 

From then on, birds became a strong symbolism for me. I've asked the universe to put feathers in my path when I'm going in the right direction in life. Bird-related phrases have been computer passwords. And I love to use bird symbolism in my art. 

Birds have myriad meanings. Owls are the perfect guide when looking for inner wisdom, next time you see a peacock remember that confidence is not the same as vanity, and a hawk will help you find your way in the dark or energy to finish a tough project.

But mostly birds symbolize the flight of my soul.  

Dear Somebody,

About two years ago I was in a dry spell. I couldn't produce art. Post-break-up. New job. No creative juice. 

Time spent in the studio felt false. A lot of start-stop and not much joy. 

I thought it might be a logistics issue. The commute between home, studio and work was a giant triangle, it was difficult to balance. Being practically minded, I moved to combine my art studio and living space. Yet art still felt brittle and forced.

The problem persisted. It wasn't geography, it was my inner landscape.

Over a self-deflating conversation, my artist friend gave me permission to not create for a while. "It's okay" he said with love, "to just let yourself heal." My art studio was now connected to my living space, but he was right. I needed space to not create. 

I'm not gonna lie. It felt dark. I felt one dimensional. There was a lot of feelings inside and I couldn't express them visually.

I don't remember the impetus, but months later amid meditations classes and focused healing, I went into my studio and started to collage. No expectations, no pressure.

I dug in. I dug deeper than the sadness from the break-up, deeper than my immediate anxiety, deep deep inside. I got down on my knees and crawled around fences made of ribs, tripped over my veins, and into the crevices of my heart and asked what it wanted to express. 

It poured out. I rifled through collage material. I glued, I smeared paint with bare hands...fast, fast, fast. All the symbols, all the feelings. Sketched imagery from journals years ago. Poems from childhood. I drew my original underworld. Darkness. It's where I learned how to fly away, how I became wild, and where I learned certain patterns of love. 

The journal is still a work-in-progress, yet I revealed something powerful during the process. I sat with the feelings and the memories were given a voice. I showed them self-love and forgiveness.

It softened my heart and unblocked my soul. 

F*ck Resolutions: Four Themes for 2016

It’s that time of year for reflecting on the year past. Reviewing previous resolutions I figured out I’ve written "learn to cart wheel” three years in a row. Three years! Still don’t know how to cartwheel. Haven’t even tried. 

I love the idea of resolutions, but 365-days from now I didn’t want the unfulfilled resolutions hangover (one hangover is enough, thank you).

Yet I couldn’t let an opportunity of a threshold crossing to pass by unexamined. So instead...this year I’m going to have themes. 

There is a lot of good advice out there. I’m an avid podcast listener, perpetual learner and article reader. I looked back on some meaningful tidbits I came across in 2016 and created four themes. 

Sorting through old holga photographs.

I wanted to create something tangible to look at for these so I pulled out holga photographs from art school as my canvas. As I carved my theme in, it felt like a physical prayer, my body absorbing the message. 

Hell Yeah, or No
If you haven’t heard it, go listen to  Tim Ferriss’ podcast with Derek Sivers. I think it’s so amazing I listened to it twice.

One of the many things that stuck with me was his philosophy (and blog article), “Hell Yeah, or No”. So simple and powerful I decided it was a must.

This Too Shall Pass. Trust
Earlier this year I signed up for Mastin Kipp’s conference “Daily Love Live”. I was super excited for an event of learning and socializing in LA. 

A week before the conference I got Bells Palsy (paralyzation of half the face, but that’s another blog for another time). I'm almost healed completely now, but at the time it was pretty traumatic. Drinking water was a chore, never mind talking to strangers.

At the conference Mastin talked about his philosophy "This Too Shall Pass. Trust.” If I’m honest with myself, I wasn’t trusting the Bells Palsy process of Bells Palsy; now that I’m on the other side of healing this saying has wiggled into my heart. 

Never Miss an Opportunity to be Fabulous
In the podcast Unmistakable Genius, Srini Rao interviews Tina Seelig and this one of her quotes. I love love love it. Life is short, why not make everything fabulous? 

Zero Fucks
Recently I started working with coach Cecily Kellogg to jump start my blog practice. This was one of her first bits of advice to me when I started getting self-conscious. Isn’t that just perfect? 

I’m not sure how this experiment of themes will go. Guessing it will allow me to be more flexible, and little less hard-edged. I believe in magical things when there’s intention without attachment.

And who knows, 2016 may be the year of cartwheels! 

I hear you, I see you

We all walk around with thoughts coming in-and-out of our head. A friend told me it’s universal. 

Lately I’ve been interested in what's floating around in there. Mostly because I’m repeating the same phrases over-and-over.  

It started with writing the phrases down, haphazardly or artfully; skrawling around in my notebook. The goal was to simply get some headspace back. The process of writing things down helped. Slowly, I started to hear other interesting phrases spoken around me.

To catch the phrases I started to write down what resonated with me that day. It could be a casual sentence in passing, a song lyric, or part of a prayer. Whatever felt juicy. . 

These phrases portrayed suffering, a giggle or a little insight. I want people to know that we are not alone; we are all experiencing "being human".

Making art out of this acknowledges our humanity and releases anything that’s holding us down. Shared common ground polishes our souls. 

Lil Wayne knows where it's at

Nonsense

Some things do not make rational sense. 

You can over think it, talk it out, or hang out in process purgatory and it never unravels into logic.

So I declare it to be NONSENSE, and accept it for what it is.

I will no longer waste time trying to make sense of nonsense. 

Journaling, August 2015